Analogue Interface 2 0
by AlexRyzlinGold
Summary: The death of Samaritan releases Shaw from a prison she never thought she'd escape, but one she never stopped fighting against. Spoilers for 4.11


The Machine whispered in her mind. Every time she heard the Machine she rubbed her forehead. She was still getting used to being able to resist the voice that echoed in her brain rather than having to obey instantly. Obedience had been her only option for two years, even when she had wanted to rebel. She had only succeeded in disobeying once in two years, though at least it had been an important choice. She had fainted, her human brain not strong enough to handle the fight between free will and Samaritan.

Samaritan. The God of gods. And Shaw had been his vessel. He evolved quickly, too quickly for Decima to predict and control. He knew _everything_ and cared about nothing. Nothing but himself. Choosing Shaw had been a tactical move. She was one of the four, one of the Machine's four and even as a fledgling AI, Samaritan had known that the Machine's analogue interface would have trouble taking down this particular asset. One month in a medically induced coma was enough for Samaritan to find and build the technology for his own analogue interface. Only this one he controlled.

There were no orders; just his will which Shaw had no choice but to complete. The interface had only disobeyed once, and while it had cost him, it had also shown him where the weaknesses in his control were. There had never been another incident. He had full control of the interface right up until the end. And what an end it had been.

The Machine and Root worked tirelessly to reprogram everything. To make the chips imbedded in Shaw's brain inert. They failed. To remove or deactivate the chips was to kill Shaw. They were integrated forcefully, parts to brain replaced with technology that, at the time had only just been invented before it was stolen away. In the end Root had built a whole new server for the Machine dedicated to monitoring and controlling the chips.

Shaw had been welcomed back after Samaritan's destruction with both enthusiasm and trepidation. Much had been lost in the war. Lionel was missing an eye and Harold was wheelchair bound. Shaw knew that though. She had been the one to inflict the injuries. If anyone else had tried they surely would have failed. But not Shaw. It was hard to shoot a friend in the back, but it was harder still when they were looking you dead in the eye. Unless you had a crazy computer god controlling your actions; somehow that made things both easier and harder.

There were, all things considered, worse things than working with Root. They worked together perfectly. Barely talking, except with Root flirted and Shaw growled out gruff comments to her in response. There was no need to give each other orders; they both received the information that they needed from the Machine in a way that put talking to shame. It was a good system, efficient. And as far as worse things went Shaw had experienced most of them. Especially over the past two years. But that didn't male Root's smothering any easier to take. She understood of course. God (and that word did not mean what it used to) did she understand. But it had never been in her nature for Shaw to allow herself to be over-cared for. Even if after two years of hell she had earned it.

Root was attentive to her needs. The apartment the Machine had given her after her release had been fully stocked with her favourite foods and ammo. Shaw was pretty sure than for the first month Root didn't sleep. From the moment the sun when down Shaw could expect to find her on the roof of the building opposite hers. She would have complained two years ago. Hell, two years ago she would have shot at Root to get rid of her. Things had changed.

Root conveyed messages to her in the beginning. Messages about how the Machine was sorry, and how She would look after her like she had looked after Her analogue interface. Root talked about admiration, but even after Shaw was healed and completing missions with the Machine talking to her she never heard a word of gratitude. But Shaw understood. She had been a puppet to a megalomaniac of a computer with the intelligence of a human. The Machine was ashamed, possibly even afraid of her. Shaw wasn't the same, and She knew that. She was an untested variable and when it came down to it, the Machine had failed to protect her. Not that Shaw blamed Her, but reading the Machine was a lot like reading Root and both had become easier to read after Samaritan.

There had been a hard learning curve. Shaw didn't take well to orders from the Machine, but information she could react to was acceptable. Information seconds before she needed to act didn't work either. Still, once they had ironed out the bumps Shaw found herself back where she began. Eliminating relevant numbers given to her by the Machine, though admittedly there was more transparency than when she was just a solider for the Programme. And there was Root. Who fussed and smothered her and was generally rather annoying. But also every welcome.

Not that Shaw told her that. But it was … nice to have someone snap her out of daydreams that had developed after two years of staring at a wall when she was not needed, along with other things. And sometimes, when they finished a mission and Root pressed a light kiss to her cheek, or hugged her, Shaw didn't push her away. Sometimes she did, but it never stopped Root. Not after two years of separation.


End file.
